


Obscure Sorrows

by Randomprojects



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:25:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1372126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomprojects/pseuds/Randomprojects
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of snippets inspired by the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obscure Sorrows

**waldosia**

_n. [Brit. wallesia] a condition characterized by scanning faces in a crowd looking for a specific person who would have no reason to be there, which is your brain’s way of checking to see whether they’re still in your life, subconsciously patting its emotional pockets before it leaves for the day._

After three months in the ass end of nowhere (with minimal provisions; you’re so sick of the damn biscuits and damp boots), the Scouting Legion is finally back in town. Eren goddamn Jeager is riding up front with Mikasa, as usual, and Armin is somewhere behind them. Connie and Sasha ride to your left, waving occasionally to the enthusiastic children. A girl – almost military age, you think – gives you a near-perfect salute, and Adele Beaumont from Squad 106 returns it when it’s clear you’re not going to do anything but ride on.

You scan the crowd absent-mindedly (you just want to have a hot meal and crawl into bed, but you have to report to HQ first, and knowing them it’ll take for-friggin-ever) until a glimpse of dark brown hair, parted neatly in the middle, and a gentle face peppered with freckles catches you by surprise. You twist around as best as you can on your horse to get a better look, and – Oh. Of course it’s not Marco. Why the hell are you so fucking disappointed anyway? He’s been dead for six years now, almost seven. You know that.

(And isn’t it strange, how fast time flies? The time he’s been dead is twice as long as the time you spent together, training and talking and laughing and drinking.)

The man who isn’t Marco disappears back into the crowd, and you continue on your way, one hand over your breast pocket feeling for the small, hard lump of polished bone tucked inside.


End file.
